


Alternative Medicine

by onebatch2batch



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blame sam rossi, F/M, Weed is involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 11:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: Frank’s getting old, and his vigilante days are starting to catch up to him. The Liebermans have some ideas on how to help. Kastle. Waaay post-TPS.





	Alternative Medicine

Getting old affects everyone in nearly the same ways—unless you’re Frank Castle. He never expected to live this long, into his forties, and as a result he never thought ahead to having to live with the consequences of his vigilantism. The aches, the pains, the constant reminder of how active he used to be, and how active he isn’t now. He lays in bed in the morning and thinks about the bottle of OTC pain medication on the nightstand, knowing that it does nothing but make the pain fuzzy around the edges, but still thunderous in its entirety.

Getting old as Frank Castle means every puckered bullet hole scar, every ripped and healed tendon, every shattered and glued-back-together bone, screams at him at all hours of the day, begging for relief. It means trying every possible pain medication he can get his hands on and then some. It means drawing a bath and laying in Karen’s scented oils, hoping whatever voodoo she claims happens, happens and gives him a moment of relief. It doesn’t, not really, but her hands kneading his aching muscles do.

Unfortunately she’s not always there to piece him back together, and so he sits at the Lieberman’s kitchen table for their biweekly lunch with a small pained sigh and watches as they exchange a glance.

“So Frank,” Sarah starts slowly, reaching out and touching his hand, “you seem like you’re in a lot of pain lately.”

Frank scratches his neck and grimaces. “‘S nothin’,” he mutters.

David glances at his wife and Frank recognizes that look, it’s the look he and Maria used to share when the kids were being especially obstreperous, or when they were trying to decide something without alerting anyone around them. He frowns at them deeply. “What?”

“We just think…” David hesitates, taps his finger. “We think you should try another method. Of pain management.”

Frank takes a drink of his coffee, takes his time with it, then sets his mug down with a soft clink. He wants to pretend that he’s not in pain—coming to terms with his age, as well as his chronic aches, is humbling. But even now, sitting still, he feels the ever present throb in his bones. He’s known the Liebermans for years now, has seen their kids grow up; he knows they’re only looking out for him. He sighs.  “Like what?”

David nods to Sarah, who stands and rifles through a cupboard above the sink. She pulls down a box and pushes it towards him with a small smile. Frank frowns down at it, reaches over and flips up the lid.

Then, he laughs. “You’re kiddin’.”

“Listen, man, the research on this does not lie. Just like, try it. You know? Because you never know.” David throws up his hands pleadingly. “We hate seeing you like this.”

Frank pulls out the small vial of what he knows is THC, and then glances down at the bud and the pipe inside as well. There’s some kind of smoking apparatus, too, that he’ll have to learn to use. Frank closes the lid and rests a hand on it, glances up at them. He doesn’t know what to say, but they seem to understand because Sarah puts a hand over his and smiles reassuringly. “We just wanted to help. Hopefully this does.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and then they’re back to normal topics, and the box rests under his hands like a beacon of relief in the distance.

—

Frank returns to Karen’s apartment with the box in his coat pocket, burning a hole through his shirt. He sets about making a pot of coffee, tosses his coat over a chair and takes a deep breath as he listens to the coffee machine sputter to life.

Karen’s still at work, and he knows she’s working on a big story so she may not be home until later. The apartment is quiet with her absence, and his pain seems to echo in the negative spaces. He doesn’t remember when he went from jumping across rooftops to this constant uncomfortable tightness in his limbs. He suspects it’s much like that metaphor with the toad in boiling water. He was already midway in the pain before he realized it, and by then it was too late.

Frank sighs and grabs the pill bottle on the counter habitually, before pausing, eyes on his jacket.

“…fuck it,” he mutters, yanking the box out and laying everything out before him. The occupational hazard of living an apartment building in New York is that the halls consistently smell—weed, food, or something more unpleasant—so he’s not worried about being caught. He debates climbing out onto the fire escape, but the couch looks much more inviting.

Frank decides to start with the bud, and although it’s been a long time since he’s used it, the muscle memory leads him. He manages to get the leaves ground up between his fingers and deposits it in the bowl, then sits back against the couch and stares down at it with a rogue smile. He puts his feet up on the coffee table and raises the lighter, takes an experimental inhale and lets the smoke fill his lungs as much as he can handle.

When he lets it go, the bud is stilled cherried but the cough bubbles up and escapes him; he takes a drink of his coffee to temper it, but only burns his tongue and curses. It’s a minute before he can catch his breath and he blinks, staring out the window. Minutes pass slowly.

Great, one hit and he’s already high as a kite. Frank sets the bowl and lighter down carefully, then rests his head against the back of the couch and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long—almost immediately his body is seized in a film of calm, and he closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of nothing at all for the first time in a long time.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, enjoying the feeling of the cold breeze over his skin from the window, before Karen’s keys turn in the lock. He rolls his head to greet her with a mellow smile and she stops just inside the door, sniffing incredulously.

“Frank,” she says slowly, on a laugh, “are you high right now?”

Frank gives her a languid smile and holds a hand out. When she steps towards him he pulls her down to the cushion next to him and kisses her temple. “Yep,” he says. “It’s from the Liebermans.”

“Why did the Liebermans get you weed?” She asks, amused gaze dragging over the box on the coffee table.

Frank hums. “Said they wanted to help. With the pain.”

Her eyes turn on his, surprised. He knows what she’s thinking already—that she’s shocked he would share his pain with them. Typically he doesn’t, knows it’s no one else’s business but his own (and by default, Karen’s). He shrugs in answer to her unasked question. “David’s a smart guy,” he says vaguely.

Karen kneads his fingers at the base of his neck lightly, considering. “Is it working?”

He gives her a small grin. “What d’you think?” he asks, placing a hand on her knee and sliding upwards.

Karen lets out a soft laugh and leans over to kiss the side of his mouth, before reaching down and picking up the bowl. Frank watches her light it, watches her slow inhale and the way the smoke fills the space around her head. Her cough makes him chuckle and he twirls a lock of her hair around his finger lazily.

“I haven’t done something like this in a long time. Since I was a teenager, actually.” She smirks and leans in close to his ear. “It always had some…interesting effects on me.”

“Oh yeah?” He rumbles, eyes darkening at her coy tone.

“Mhm…” She lifts to bowl to his lips, lights it for him and watches as he inhales. When she pulls it away, she gestures and comes close, sucking in when he blows the smoke towards her parted lips.

When she’s let out the smoke, Frank grabs the bowl and sets it down on the table, then pulls her to him and kisses her soundly. Karen laughs against his mouth, lets him yank her into a lying position, lets out a soft sigh when he runs a hand down her chest, the other working at the zipper of her skirt.

“I like this Frank,” she says with a wide smile as his lips meet her neck. “High, pain-free, sexy Frank. I can really get behind that.”

“You can thank the Liebermans later,” he says, teeth scraping against her skin, nibbling at her collarbone.

“We’re going to send them a fruit basket,” she decides, and Frank only hums distractedly and puts his pain-free body to good use.


End file.
